Date of Rebirth: Revelations
Temple of the White Dragon ---- ::Of all the holy ground that has ever been established in the Empire of Fastheld, the simplistic nature of the Temple of the White Dragon may well make it one of the most immaculate of them all. It consists of an inner and an outer chamber, with two thirds of the overall dimensions of the monument building belonging to the interior area. It is directly connected to Dawnstar Leep at the southern end, with a projecting "H" of columns forming the entrance in the middle of the eastern side. ::The inner chamber of the temple is thirty meters long by twenty meters wide, with internal marble colonnades in two tiers, structurally necessary to support the roof. On the exterior, the columns measure two meters in diameter and are ten meters high. The corner columns are slightly larger in diameter. In total, the temple features forty-six outer pillars and nineteen inner pillars in total. The top step of the stepped platform upon which colonnades of the temple columns are placed has an upward curvature towards its center of three inches on the east and west ends, and of four inches on the sides. The roof is covered with large overlapping marble tiles. ::Inside the temple, the arsenic-shade of stone is blanketed with golden-timber panels and beams, while the floor consists of black, reflective marble tiles. The contrast between black and gold is nothing if not spectacular. A vast stained-glass window, a semi-circle in shape, rests flush against the western wall, depicting a rising sun in an azure dawn over a landscape of emerald, jade, and viridian. Though most of the inner chamber remains as open hall space, various rooms surrounding the chamber provide areas for lodging and storage for the various Paladins and Clerics of the Order of the White Dragon to use as required. Training is often done in the separate area of the inner chamber, segregated from the mail hall of worship. ::It is in that hall of worship that the temple's greatest artifact remains: set into the black marble floor of the main inner chamber, cast in radiant argentite, rests the insignia of the Order of the White Dragon - an abstract dragon, depicting the light as a creature that is less a living entity than a real force of nature. The collision of these two themes is at once both a testament to the True Light itself, and the dragoness who acts as an agent of the Light, Sara'tharalax. ---- It would seem that Light's Reach is not as devoid of life as it would appear to be. Not exactly entirely devoid, at least, for stood alone in the Temple of the White Dragon (for that is, without a doubt, evident from the inside) stands a man just shy of six foot tall. Around five foot eleven, for those good at estimating height. His back is turned to those who may approach him, looking - as he is - at the large semi-circular stained glass window that depicts the rising sun over the verdant horizon. Though there is no sun to light that window, it is still clearly a thing of beauty. His hair is auricomous, cascading from his head in silken waves of organized disarray, while his attire is strictly a somber affair of black leather; a surcoat covering his form atop pants of matte-black leather and boots of equal color. A scabbard is also attached to the surcoat's belt at the left hip. There's something curious about this man, though; he radiates an aura of strength and serenity, and one might see that his hair is an almost otherworldly shade of argent white. Set within the black marble beneath his feet rests a remarkable artifact indeed. An artifact of a dazzlingly radiant argent silver, one that reflects a distorted image of the man that stands above it. He doesn't seem to react to those that enter the temple, perhaps by choice. Griedan gasps aloud as he comes into the room and spies the Argentite Dragon first and then the man standing before it. "It... we..." he begins, unable quite to find words and instead just stares at Celeste. "like us..." he finally whispers to the noblewoman. The mason slowly begins to approach that figure, standing still a bit taller than the other man. Syton moves swiftly across the marble floors, gripping his quarterstaff in tense--if peaceful--agitation. Each step works him into a greater knot of twisted intensity and emotion. He looks about the temple wildly, as though desperately searching for something. The sight of the lone, leather-clad man is not surprising then, more expected, even eagerly so. Syton approaches him without hesitation or comment. Although Milora entered at a good speed, now she halts herself quite abruptly. Immediately she glances behind her, and then glances back - the man is observed with a careful eye. After a second she inhales, silently but visibly, and moves timidly forward. Celeste approaches the man quietly from the back of the group, unmindful of those who remain behind or who move with hesitant steps. The Mikin woman moves with purpose. She steps quietly behind the man and lowers to one knee, the mace laid to her side. "...Brother," she inquires cautiously of the quiet man. Her own eyes, been mostly downcast until now, glance up to offer their own golden corona to the sea-green irises to the man. Taran steps in... and to one side, so that others can also enter, walking to one of the corners. Looking around, he doesn't miss the presence of the stranger but seems to let it go for now. Rather he seems to be listening, murmuring, and as the sounds come clearer, the bard is singing. Wordless, pure notes, but singing. As Norran enters the temple, his head inclines curiously toward the somewhat familiar decorations around the site. "The idols of Crown's Refuge," he notes to himself aloud, his brow arching as he takes notice of the figure standing before the window. He, too, surges forth of his own accord, emerald eyes settled on the man's back. Carefully, Norran speaks, "Welcome to Fastheld, stranger. My name is Norran." His tone is strangely polite, settling the tip of his claymore to the floor and resting a hand idly on the pommel to lean against it as he considers the man. Meian attempts to halt without releasing Kael's hand as everyone else approaches the man, glancing down at the floor and letting her eyes focus on that argent thing of beauty. But Taran's song catches the girl's attention and her gaze lifts... of all the new wonders, she seems to focus on the bard's more familiar face, listening intently as if to divine some secret knowledge from those notes. "Not yet," a calm and measured voice replied, the man turning to look upon Celeste with eyes that shine like seraphite; a dusty blue that speaks of a powerful connection to the Light. "And I don't think Rowena has any sisters," he purrs, his tone as regal as it is amused, "So I think it's safe to say that I am unlikely to be your brother." He winks, turns, and then regards Norran with a level gaze. "Hello Norran," he offers in turn, hand resting on the pommel of a sleeping sword, "It's been a while." Griedan supplicates himself before the man upon the marble next to Celeste, bowing his head down. The white glow comging from Griedan's skin fades some, but then he seems to think better of this and lets it shine as brightly as it is capable once again. Kael simply sheathes that blade, on crossing the threshold - moving quietly up next to Meian, staying back, but - yes, watching, still so very thoughtful. His gaze tracks to the dragon... up to the window - and to the man, past the rest of the party. Trying to take it all in, it seems. Opening her mouth, the smaller Lomasa looks at Norran as though in disapproval - but she closes her lips and raises her eyebrows, adjusting her posture and moving a little closer to the Duke. When the strange man speaks - she looks at him, furrowing her eyes slightly. "I know you." Something in the man's voice stops Syton abuptly, as though he had run into a brick wall. The flaxen-haired young freelander looks upon the stranger with confusion and the tormented fidgetting of incredible self-restraint. He opens his mouth, but only a choked noise comes out, several steps short of an actual word. "...so you are not a Priest of the Light?" Celeste inquires, her own golden gaze looking to the blue of the man's. "No, Duchess Rowena is my cousin.... have you seen?" Her own tone polite and near reverent in it's supplication of the man. "I am Lady Celeste Mikin, Viscountess and Priestess of Night Edge," she continues in the sedate tones. "Indeed," next utters the young Duke, the grin twitching at the corner of his lips only broadening at the voice coming from the man. "It has, hasn't it? We had somewhat of a misunderstanding. I hope we did not intrude too heavily upon your hospitality when we ventured in here..." pausing, the Lomasa's eyes twinkle with fascination, his lips speaking a few more words, "...Your Majesty." "I never held it against you, Norran, don't worry." the man returns, offering a slight nod towards the Duke before looking back upon Celeste. He seems to overlook Griedan for now; not out of ignorance, but one might get the feeling that he isn't quite sure how to deal with such supplication. "Lady Celeste," he offers, "I'm Serath Kahar, Prince of the Blood, Sovereign of Fastheld." A pause, "As for Rowena... she's around here somewhere. The last I saw of her she was running around the Keep, poking at everything in a somewhat excitable manner. If you can find her *and* manage to keep her still, well..." He smiles, "THAT will be a real feat to behold. Welcome to Light's Reach." Meian sucks in a sharp breath at this announcement, immediately taking her hand back- if not gripped too tightly- to dip into a deep, reverential curtsey to the man. Her gaze lowers to her feet and stays there, the genuflection so complete as to almost brush her hair against the temple's floor. Very quietly, the girl mumbles, "F-forgive me, your Majesty, f-for not paying y-you respect sooner.." With the pitch of her voice, it seems she might rather be hoping to be ignored. At that moment Milora goes rather pale, and a stillness crosses her body momentarily. A small twitch seems to bring her out of her stupor, and then she produces a curtsey that is acceptable - if a bit stiff. When she returns to her original upright position she offers a rather sheepish smile and fixes her eyes on Norran. Celeste's smile brightens, the woman rising to her feet. "Then it is good to know she is whole... and excited," she replies, her own tones brightening at the man's words. "Perhaps we can speak when you are not so overwhelmed with guests as to the news I've heard." She leaves the mace to the floor, looking about the temple again. "It's beautiful here, your majesty. Was this...um," she seems to grow embarrassed at the words. "was this *her* work?" Kael just.. blinks, head cocking to one side, focusing fully on the fellow. Meian's reaction seems to remind him of - something... oh. Right! A bow, right? He moves to try one, and then rethinks it... in the end sort of... twitching and standing there, looking more than a bit lost. Syton is able to neither bow nor speak at Serath's introduction. He stands beside and behind Celeste, stuck in an odd stance on the edge of action and inaction. Some strong emotion burns behind his eyes, tempered by uncertainty and held down to nothing by sheer force of will. Finally, after a series of deep breaths, he is able to move, taking a step and a half backwards before going completely still once more. "My deepest appreciations," muses Norran, his grin forming into a fully-fledged smile of his usual jovial proportions. "Your appearance here has...unnerved a few, I'm afraid. Should I send for someone to return to the gates and inform the company of Watchmen outside that we've not been devoured by wildlings? They didn't have much faith in me." "No, Celeste, this is the work of the Light." Serath offers in reply Celeste, quite sincerely as he understands who *she* probably is, "For as the Shadow is capable of a great many things, so is the Light. Except the Light asks for little in return, while the Shadow demands payment in full. Don't be so quick to worship something you don't understand. *She* is not a creature to be worshipped, and neither am I. We both work for the Light, and nothing more." That said, he looks up and over Celeste's shoulder towards Norran in the background, "The Watch are outside the bulwark? I didn't think about that... ah, let them stay there for a while. I'll speak to them tomorrow. For now, feel free to wander around and explore. The real task will be getting people assigned to buildings without it turning into a free-for-all. Still, I imagine I can get the Tribunal to help there." Griedan stays kneeling upon the floor for a moment, not daring to look up into the eyes of the man whom he is kneeling before. The large mason does not even seem to possess the faculties with which to speak just yet. Something of what Serath says does bring a very small smile to his face however. Something like laughter stays at Milora's lips, and when the colour fully returns to her face she looks quite natural. As she listens to Serath, there's a hint of something on her face - the beginning of a nod - but both are pulled back with all the grace Milora can command. Taran falls silent, and with the end of song becomes quite still, in his corner. Watching. Just watching, and listening, as if he'd put his self into the wordless music and set it loose. "Only a fool worships symbols... they should only be used to educate, your majesty. No, Master Vhramis has been able to speak with me about some of the drakes," confesses the Mikin. A glance back to the merchant at her shoulder, she takes a step back to place a hand to his arm. "We believed it to be the work of the Light." Her gaze dropping to the form of the stonemason, giving voice to, or at least in part, of the "we" in question. "It is good to see you again, your Majesty. I shall seek out the Duchess and see if I can keep her still long enough to entreat all she's learned of here." With an excited laugh, Norran bows his head toward Serath and lifts his claymore up again by the ricasso. He begins to turn to take his leave, the amethyst silk of his cloak trailing behind him as he makes his way out again. "If you have further use of me, Your Majesty, I shall be at the nearest taproom. Light be with you!" Meian produces a quietly relieved sigh as she is not acknowledged, finally daring to straighten somewhat... and retake Kael's hand, if he will permit it. Shifting her weight awkwardly, the girl watches and listens, without another word. There's a keen quality to that observation, pale-stormy eyes fixated on Serath primarily. Kael does, of course - smiling fondly to the girl for a moment before looking back to the Prince of the Blood, content, it seems, to stay remote, and just watch, self-conscious still. Syton's eyes shift to the departing Duke Lomasa, then to Celeste, then finally back to the Prince. Though he doesn't stand much farther back than he did before, the extra distance seems to do him good. Some of his emotion boils off, leaving him equal parts restless and tired. "I doubt you'll find much there." the Prince calls as Norran makes his way to depart. "But you can pretend, I suppose." he then adds, mostly to himself. "Still, I imagine a Lomasa can drunk by merely thinking about ale, what with it being so deeply set in their blood." Huh. Musing aside, Serath brings himself back to the present, looking back to Celeste once more, but then upon each of the others in turn. "Go on. You might as well follow him if you like, unless you all want to stand around and look at me for until the sun rises. The interest will wear off eventually, I'm sure." "I think I have not spent my five minutes yet today, your majesty," says Taran quietly. "So I will spend them here." "I will come with you. We shall explore," Milora remarks to Norran. When Serath speaks again, she smiles and curtseys again. "Thank you, Your Highness. Your hospitality is deeply appreciated." The words are light, but mild, and accompanied by a gently smile before Mily turns to keep step just behind her Patriarch. Griedan rises up slowly back onto his own feet and performs an awkward bow to Serath. "Light's Blessin's 'pon yeh Yer Majesteh." the mason finally says in his deep, rumbling voice. He taks a couple steps back from the man and turns to Celeste. "I 'avena e'er seen yer famileh's duchess, aye. Should be interesting'... well, ifn yeh let meh come with, aye." Meian flushes a deep red of shamefaced embarrassment at that comment, curtseying hastily again- but this one is a one-handed motion, her other hand remaining taken. She murmurs, "I... I m-meant no disrespect, Your M-majesty..." Helplessly she looks up at Kael, asking in a low voice, "Should w-we... go elsewhere, t-then... look around?" Kael speaks softly - "where y' go, I follow - y' done enough followin' o' me fer th' day." He adds, thoughtfully, across to the Prince, curiously unflustered, for once - "Donnae mind me. Jus' ne'er seen a Prince afore, aye? Well, nae up close. I mean, s' sort o' sommat I figure woul' be lucky t' happen once. Sort o' takin' advantage o' it, I guess." He grins then - merry and wide, that thoughtfulness forgotten for a moment, at least. "I'm sure there's a bottle or three in my pack," thinks Norran to himself, idly stroking at the thin beard on his chin. "Of course, Milora. I'd be glad," he chimes, humming a small tune to himself as he disappears outside. The Prince nods over at Taran at those words, but doesn't openly hint at their connection. There's a knowing smile there, though, and it's one that replaces the need for any elaboration. "It wasn't dismissal," he states towards Meian, voice calm and measured. "Don't worry." He states nothing more, for there's nothing more to be added. "There'll be time for questions later. As it stands, sleep is not something I can fend off, so if you'll excuse me... I shall see if I know where my quarters are, that I have not yet discovered, but know the location of." There are more details in that comment of departure about the nature of the construction of this city of Light than may at first meet the eye. Celeste watches the retreating crowds, smiling back to Serath. "Congratulations, your majesty. Now I see that Master Wolfsbane and I have one less trouble to tend to in the future, as we were worried at the silence of bandits." She reaches down to retrieve the mace again, casting a quick glance to the mason. "You have met her, Master Griedan. She just did not address who she was when she came to visit." ---- ''Return to Season 6 (2007) Category:Logs